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Yes, Yes we know you’re probably all fresh off the boat from watching Captain Drunk and his accompanying cleavage attempt to cook their way out of the MKR Hall of Crap, but Rico and I are firm believers in finishing unpleasant business first, so let’s do a quick postmortem on Josh and Danielle, and the quickest once-over in history on Harry and Christo!

Ever since Josh and Danielle first appeared on the Gatecrasher scene, we’ve heard nothing but how these two are hoping to make a Delorian out of food, and do bog laps over the competition.

For Rico, it’s always a difficult night when the cooks in question are into obscure concepts like ‘chemistry’, ‘molecules’ and ‘wanking’, because the food often comes out in squishy gobules and gelatinus masses and he was really hoping to save the thought of all that for when he’s too old and incapable to fight off the hospital orderlies.

Anyhoo, let’s get down to it! On the menu tonight is an oxtail and mushroom and hazelnut something, salmon cooked in a space bag with a side of Milk Arrowroot, and a banana parfait with maple syrup pig meat, and Danielle reckons they’ve come up with some AMAZING flavours and that it’s so great to create EXCITEMENT for the people eating their food.

Rico, who has already put down his wine glass and brought forth an extra large black bin liner, reckons it’s odd that she’s missed the point of the whole ‘excitement’ thing, because the last time he felt excited it certainly wasn’t in the lead-up to a Niagra chunder.

Anyhoo, with shopping out of the way they’re twittering merrily about their Instant Restaurant, Alchemy, and how they’ve been all clever-clogs by putting potting mix on the table and making the menu out of the cheap Chinese paper that has an Anthraxy aftertaste.

‘If they get too hungry they can just eat it and DIE!’ Danielle gushes, before worrying that, if that happens, it’s possible one of the less reasonable teams could mark them down.

So, cooking, blah blah, guests arriving, blah blah, Pete and Manu, ho hum, and before we know it it’s over an hour with asses on seats and no sign of the entree.

‘You reckon those paintings are edible?’ brays Harry, leaping out of his seat with his tongue running vangard.

‘Yah! So do!’ shrieks Kelly, and before you know it they’re pashing so hard on the wall art you’d think it was a poster of Michael Fassbender.

‘Michael FASSBENDER??’ Rico shrieks. ‘But he’s a GINGER! He’s like a haircut and a song about a vagina away from Ed SHEERAN!’

After a few minutes spent calming Rico down from his emergency stash of Golden Oak Lambrusco (to be used only in the case of a ginger emergency), we manage to refocus on the show, only to find out that these two useless bastards STILL haven’t sent out any food.

‘Ooooh Danielle!’ moans Josh. ‘These gelatinous globules so aren’t working!’ Danielle, who is busy with the Gjozas or the Goobers or the whateverthefucks, gives him a you’re-picking-NOW-to-fuck-with-me? look and tells him in no uncertain terms that this is HIS mess and he can goddamn Bunsen Burner his way out of it.

And, apparently, fear of Danielle works better than acquired knowledge and hours of practice, because suddenly they aren’t coming out so slobbery and, with the exception of Kelly’s which slides all over her plate like a misplaced cum shot, they don’t look entirely disgusting.

‘FINALLY!’ the other teams snap when the plates make an entrance, and if Josh and Danielle notice that their wall art is now a vague smear on Harry’s face and that half the guests have top soil breath, they don’t comment, and instead stand eager for Pete and Manu to hand over the glory they feel they surely deserve.

‘The oxtail was lovely,’ Pete murmurs. ‘But the rest of it makes me wish for death or sex with Leann Rimes – which is kinda the same as death – know what I’m saying?’

Josh looks HORRIFIED because Can’t Fight the Moonlight is THEIR SONG, and is it possible that Manu is about to slap Pete out of his chair and defend Leann’s honour?

Unfortunately – no.

‘Oooh I ‘ATE Leann Rimes!’ spits Manu. ‘But I ‘ave to disagree wit Pete because ‘dis is so much worse!’

‘I never said it wasn’t worse you deaf French cunt!’ rages Pete. ‘It’s so fucking foul I can barely speak!’

Utterly defeated, Josh and Danielle skulk back to the kitchen while the other guests poke hesitantly at the gelatinous globule and dare one another to try and think of a more hideous sounding combination. Alone among those who like it is ever-positive Carly who says, if it was available at her local take-away she’d totally order it – because how great would it be to be able to buy the dog dinner for less than 50c?

‘ARRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRRR!’ snarls the dog, because the only take-away it will accept is a KFC Zinger burger and even then it gives it the strict once-over to make sure Rico didn’t spend the bacon and cheese allowance on boxed Riesling.

Anyhoo, despite Pete saying that they better make sure the flavours in their main course have passed the Gross Assessment, they’re sticking to their guns and putting out a vanilla mayonnaise and a cinnamon biscuit with their space-bag salmon.

To the cameras, Danielle says she is ‘heartbroken’ hearing the judges bicker about just how many multiplications of hell her food equals, and when Carly sees the disappointment on their flavour-fucking-with faces, she sheds a few tears that Rico reckons are REALLY about them being alive and about to cook dessert.

Back in the kitchen and the parfait is set and our weary competitors are squabbling about the amount of bacon they should put on the plate, with Danielle thinking loads and Josh thinking a cubic millimetre only visible using a monocle.

‘I just think it would be so sophisticated!’ he insists. ‘Sophistitted is so awesome!’

In the end, Josh wins – a fact that he’s rather pleased about until Manu starts whinging about wanting more bacon.

‘I KNEW IT!’ bellows Danielle. ‘I fucking KNEW IT!’

Still, it’s not a total loss, with Pete describing it as ‘memorable’ – and not in the way that’s going to keep him up at night too scared to poke his leg out of the bed for fear that the parfait is waiting.

Once again, Carly is the dark horse of the table who LOVES it and would happily trade places with Pete and roll around in it like a hippy pig. Of those who don’t want to spew, Harry reckons the first bite was alright but that the second made his nuts hurt, and Lady of the Manor Cathy thinks it doesn’t match and reminds her of this time that a 21-year-old Anna came home with a Taiwanese boyfriend.

The guests’ scores are typically gruesome, with the exception of Carly who bullies Tresne into awarding a seven and sends the Dog into the backyard to vent its rage on the hydrangeas. And with a total of 23, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that – bar Pete dropping an E in the restroom and coming into a sudden feeling of euphoric forgiveness – these two are destined to bring that weird fleshy smile to Kelly’s face, and keep it there.

And – OMG! – Pete actually still scores them crap, giving them a three a five and a five, respectively. Manu, who obviously ground his pill into powder and mainlined the shit out of it, is clearly riding the wave because he gives that horror of an entree a five and then matches it for the main and dessert!

And the grand total is… 51!

‘FUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKK YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSS!’ Scream Chloe and Kelly in unison, while Josh mutters that quitting their jobs was perhaps a tad hasty and Danielle concentrates on not running to the kitchen, scooping up the unused bacon, and shoving it up his ass.

Which takes us straight to the Harry and Christo episode which can pretty much be summed up as follows:

Which, when put in plain English, translates to: Shower sex = Harry in a better frame of mind = better cooking = Josh and Danielle still staring down the barrel of the dole queue.

Rico reckons I’m totally not being fair because the calamari entree was absolutely NOT better cooking – unless ‘better’ is code for ‘STANK!’. He also reckons, despite what the judges said, that that dessert looked like something you’d dig out of six-month-old forgotten lunchbox, and anyone who thinks mixing fruit with sloppy biscuit = competition cooking needs to be led out at dawn and forced to crank one off in front of their in-laws.